


Born to Lose

by midmorning_bomb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes Live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midmorning_bomb/pseuds/midmorning_bomb
Summary: “Talia, this engagement was D.O.A. Surely you can buildone alliancewithout a sham marriage.”
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 219
Kudos: 1356





	1. D.O.A

“You can’t be serious.”

Peter has spent more of his life than he cares to think about tempering his expectations. But this? This was frankly fucking ridiculous. He wasn’t a fool, wasn’t expecting true love after being sold off like chattel to secure a political alliance. But he’d assumed he’d be able to expect fidelity from his assigned fiancée. Or at least, he’d assumed his sister would expect as much.

“Talia, this engagement was D.O.A. Surely you can build _one alliance_ without a sham marriage.”

It might be a petty dig, but Peter wasn’t exactly feeling generous at present.

“Peter, this isn’t up for discussion. I’m your alpha, and I’m not asking.” Talia looks back down at the papers on her desk, lifting a hand to dismiss him. Peter clenches his jaw, and gives into the urge to slam the door on his way out. He can see the writing on the wall. Talia thinks she’s got him on a leash, that he’s been sticking around for the prestige of being a Hale in Talia’s pack. More than the money and luxury—and don’t get him wrong, he does love money and luxury—Peter values loyalty, and it’s clear, now, how little he has here. It’s not like he’d never planned for something like this, Peter always has a plan. He had foolishly held onto some sliver of hope that cutting it all and running wouldn’t have to happen. That hardly means he’s unprepared.

He’s halfway into the long drive, four hours out from Portland, suitcase and duffle bag in the backseat, when he stops for gas and texts Cora to see if she’s up for some company for dinner.

_You’re in Portland??_

**_In another four hours, I will be, yes._ **

_WTF Peter. Yes to dinner._

**_Eloquent as always, my favourite niece. Please let Derek know I’ll also be needing the spare bedroom in the loft above the bar until I get settled._ **

_W. T. F_

Peter smiles at his phone, she really is his favourite, although the competition isn’t very stiff. Earlier, as he was the leaving the main house, Laura waylaid him to try and convince him to stay. Gave what he’s sure she thought was a rousing speech, apparently not realizing that her role as future alpha doesn’t preclude her from the whims of the current one. He’s morbidly curious to see what happens now that Talia only has one marriageable bargaining chip left. Peter used to resent being so much younger than Talia, born late enough that he was never considered an option for alpha. Seeing Laura following in her mother’s footsteps, he realizes how narrow that path actually is. The problem with them is that in following such a specific course for their lives, they’ve lost the ability to be flexible, adaptable. Peter is nothing if not both. So while he may still crave power, if he ever decides to become an alpha, he’ll do it the old-fashioned way. In the meanwhile, Derek’s incredibly hands off approach to leadership has never been more appealing.

It's been three years since Peter was last at _Moon Howler_ , the bar Derek and Cora opened after being evicted from Beacon Hills. The woeful name they settled on still makes Peter cringe. He should’ve left with them, if only to help them avoid anything so tacky. Luckily they had help with the interior, all warm maple wood finishes and black and oxblood tufted leather seating. The paintings on the wall are frenetic, dark and full of life. Peter makes a note to get the name of the artist from Cora, after all, he’ll eventually have a home here to adorn. Part of him is looking forward to starting over. No matter how much he tried to make his space in Beacon Hills his own, there was always some family heirloom that apparently desperately needed to live in his apartment downtown. It’s hard not to feel bitter, reflecting on all the trampling of his boundaries both large and small.

He orders a Collingwood rye whisky, neat, from the tall bartender. Said bartender nods, serves his drink, and leaves Peter in silence with a small, wry smile. As Peter is settling, Derek comes in with a rack of clean glasses, eyebrows raised in question, while Cora settles on the stool next to him.

“So, children, would you like the long tale of woe, or condensed tale of woe?”

Cora snorts and Derek’s eyebrows furrow.

“Condensed it is. I’m going to need much, much more whisky for the dirty details to all come out. Your mother, my darling soon-to-be-ex-alpha, decided the most expedient route to an alliance with the Orion pack would be yet another political marriage.” Cora snorts again, and rolls her eyes, while Derek just shakes his head. “My thoughts, exactly. Unfortunately, since she’s all out of warm bodies and you two charmers aren't around, Laura and I were the only viable options left. Lucky me. I was prepared to do my duty until I found out my lovely fiancée was still (carnally) seeing an old flame. Pardon me. Three separate old flames.”

Cora winces, and let’s out a breath. “Ouch. So you’re up here because the wedding’s off…?”

Peter laughs and downs the rest of his drink, “No, no, Cora, dear. I’m up here because Talia insisted the wedding was still very much on.”

Even Derek winces, now, and slides another glass of whisky over. It’s the Mortlach 20, and Peter appreciates his nephew expressing feelings with expensive alcohol. Peter knocks back the warm, amber liquid and sighs. Then lifts his head with a smirk painted back on.

“So, nephew,” he leans his head back, exposing his neck, “will you have me in your pack?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [D.O.A](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioDnMv_C5_g).
> 
> Hope you guys like Sleigh Bells.


	2. Leaders of the pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bar is closed Sunday and Monday, which means it’s time to meet the new pack. He’s not expecting much. Derek has always had both a tendency to pick up strays and remarkably low standards. Peter deliberately does not think about what this says about him being accepted into the fold so quickly.

Peter spends a couple days finding somewhere to live that doesn’t involve trying to sleep over ‘Blues Howlin’ at the Howler Night’—ugh, that name—or concrete floors. He ends up putting an offer in on a condo with a private terrace, long walls of windows, and mountain views to east, river views to the north. The finishes are all rich browns and chrome, and it has a spare bedroom that will serve well as an office. He’s exhausted, he’d been steeling himself for a marriage that would, at the very best, have been just barely amicable. He could deal with vapid, tolerate the lack of wit, though he nearly choked when she casually mentioned they’d have to replace his Andrew Lichota triptych with her print of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe. But flagrant disloyalty? He honestly wasn’t sure if he was more offended by the affair(s), or the sloppy execution.

The bar is closed Sunday and Monday, which means it’s time to meet the new pack. He’s not expecting much. Derek has always had both a tendency to pick up strays and remarkably low standards. Peter deliberately does not think about what this says about him being accepted into the fold so quickly. Cora and Boyd are already at the loft, deep into a heated conversation about IPAs versus stouts. Boyd’s partner Erica chimes in every now and then, arguing back and forth about the merits of citrusy IPAs. Erica takes to Peter instantly, wanting all the gruesome details of how he was “done dirty.”

Isaac is the next to arrive, a bit cool at first until Peter tells him he’d love to commission a piece for the condo, and shows him some photos of the wall across from the mountain view. Isaac comes to life, talking about a series he’s working on using a gel with white acrylic polymer flakes. His enthusiasm is completely infectious, and Peter is caught up in it when the two final pack members stumble into the loft. The first is too friendly, and slightly dopey, looking, rocking a manbun and what Peter hopes is an ironic band t-shirt, and the second is absolutely beautiful. Bright eyes, dark, messy hair. Intricate tattoos trailing down his arms all the way to his fingertips. Finished off with a cocky smile.

Derek gestures with his beer toward the new arrivals. “This is Scott and—”

“Whoa. Hello, _Daddy_.”

Derek sighs the longest, heaviest sigh Peter has ever heard, “—And Stiles. My emissary.”

Derek glares at the pair, they’re idiots, but they’re his idiots and he has no one else to blame. He should probably raise the pack’s entry standards above being a warm body willing to help out at the bar when they’re busy on Saturdays and blues nights. He’d have looked for people with better social skills, but that would require him having some himself. Pots, kettles.

“Dude, that’s like, his uncle.” Scott’s nose scrunches up, while Stiles continues to leer at a stunned Peter.

“Dude. I stand by my statement. S’up?” And now the beautiful, tattooed man is waggling his eyebrows at Peter, who really can’t tell if he’s being fucked with. It was a long week and a long drive, and… this is not what Peter was expecting from Derek’s pack. Or his life. Stiles’ smile is starting to wane, though, so apparently this poor attempt at seduction was genuine. Peter grins and holds out a hand. After hearing Stiles’ heartbeat speed up, the grin widens and turns predatory.

“Nice ink.” He let’s his fingers drag across Stiles’ own as the handshake ends.

Derek is not interested in spending anymore time watching Stiles awkwardly hit on his uncle. He’s _definitely_ not interested in hearing about the chemical composition of the ink Stiles uses to make enchanted, needleless tattoos. Again.

“Boyd, I’m putting Peter on the schedule starting next Wednesday, I’ll get you to show him the ropes. He’ll be working extra shifts since he’s living here for free.” Derek looks pleased, he might have a pack of weirdos, but he also has four nights a week of free labour.

Peter rolls his eyes, but nods back at Derek. “Well, it’s better than being married off for a few acres of land and a goat.”

Scott makes a face, “wait, that’s actually a thing? Like, could Derek marry us off for a grocery discount?” Derek huffs, a little affronted. Scott has no idea what food margins are like.

“Don’t worry, dude, marriage treaties are super rare.” Stiles pats Scott’s shoulder in reassurance. At least, it would be reassuring if Cora didn’t bark out a harsh laugh.

“Rare? Peter would be mom’s _fifth_ victim. She’s a control freak.”

“Uh, wow, okay. So that’s a lot. Unless… everything I’ve read on the subject is wrong.” Stiles looks questioningly back at Peter and Derek. From the research he’s done, marriage treaties fell out of vogue with most packs decades ago. He’s only heard snippets of Talia Hale’s pack from Derek and Cora. They’re taciturn on a good day, encouraging them to talk about their emotions would be like talking to rocks. And okay, sometimes Stiles _does_ talk to rocks, but they’re magic as shit and he was reading this article about sonorous rocks and—and the whole room is staring at him. He’s either gone quiet or he’s saying the inside words out loud again.

Peter is, for the second time this evening, dumbfounded. Stiles is… something. He’s not sure what, exactly, yet. He wants to see the rest of the tattoos, the constellations of stars and animals, runes and phases of the moon that seem to dance on Stiles’ skin.

“I’m not marrying anyone off. We have alliances with the neighbouring packs, we’re fine. Even if we didn’t, it would never come to that, okay?” It really wouldn’t. Derek’s skin crawls even thinking about it. He wants his betas, the small family he’s built here, safe. He wants them healthy and whole and in control of their own destinies, even if that means having wrong opinions about IPAs or wearing a manbun. Peter is his now, and if it comes down to completely cutting ties with the Beacon Hills pack, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Leaders of the pack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5eVozgtQtE&list=OLAK5uy_lpaWN9LUezCx-9o2ZUXdyqRwjRyVth09c&index=6&t=0s).


	3. You lost me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where are you, Peter? The wedding planner is here, the Orions are here. Your _fiancée_ is here!” Talia sounds livid over the phone, and maybe it’s petty to savour this moment, but Peter’s doing just that. This will be a treasured memory, he’s sure.

The purchase of the condo goes through, with a closing date of two weeks. The time flies, while Peter connects his clients with his new contact information and location, and learns the ropes at _Moon Howler_. He’s a natural, of course, he already makes a mean cocktail and if Peter knows anything, he knows how to schmooze. He and Boyd are a formidable pair behind the bar, which would please him more if he didn’t see the gleam in Derek’s eyes as he calculates the nightly earnings. Scott, Isaac, and Stiles make more tips, possibly due to puppy-eyed charm, but Boyd, Erica, and Peter are ruthless on the upsell. Peter figures this is Derek’s petty revenge for all the times he conned his nephew into washing his car growing up.

He wonders how long it will take Talia to notice he’s truly left. They tend to only interact when she summons him, wanting to use his connections. His business started small, procuring books and artefacts for a few early clients, but quickly expanded. Peter is currently one of the most in-demand antiquarians on the west coast. He supposes he should be grateful, now, that the Orion emissary had been so flagrant in his pursuit of Peter’s abilities and collection of books and antiquities. The manipulations from the Orions weren’t exactly masterful, with Peter warning Talia every step of the way. She ignored him at each turn, and by the time she’d signed the (deeply flawed) contract, he’d felt utterly defeated. If nothing else, he’d secreted away the the bulk of the collection during the initial discussions months prior.

He’s brought out of his reverie by his phone ringing. He glances up to see Derek staring at him with eyebrows raised at the ringtone, the chorus to Kelis’ _Caught Out There_.

“Hello Talia. Why are you calling me?” Derek rolls his eyes hard as Peter answers the phone and turns back to his book.

“Where are you, Peter? The wedding planner is here, the Orions are here. Your _fiancée_ is here!” Talia sounds livid over the phone, and maybe it’s petty to savour this moment, but Peter’s doing just that. This will be a treasured memory, he’s sure.

“You've lost me, Talia, I don’t have a fiancée. I’m reasonably sure we discussed this.”

“Peter. Stop playing games and get to the house, now. I’m tired of constantly having to pull rank with you.” By this time Cora has also made her way over, not even bothering to pretend to be there for anything other than shameless eavesdropping.

“Then I have some excellent news for you, because you won’t be pulling rank on me ever again. You’re delighted, I’m sure.” Derek coughs to cover a laugh, Cora doesn’t bother hiding hers.

“…Where are you, Peter.” He thinks the last time he heard her voice this cold and furious, she was demanding her son give up his newly-gained alpha spark to stay in Beacon Hills. Watching Derek and Cora now, looking nothing but exasperated and entertained (respectively), he’s genuinely glad they chose to leave.

“Hm. That’s really not your business, Talia. Seeing as you’re no longer my alpha.” He ends the call abruptly. That felt really, really good. Kelis starts playing again and Peter sends the call to voicemail.

Now that Derek has spent time as an alpha, being responsible for others, building and protecting his territory, he thinks he understands his mother a bit better than he used to. He understands, to a degree, the need to feel like you’re in control. What he doesn’t understand is how she can be so distant from their needs, who they are as people. He’s not, he’s not good at people. He’s not good at small talk, he gets impatient when it comes to social niceties. But he wants them all to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand all the things that make them happy. The thought of forcing someone into a box, a life they don’t want to be in, is honestly abhorrent. His mother told him once, when he was younger and didn’t want to engage in all the pageantry and political competition with other packs, that the drive to be the best was something only an alpha really understood. Well. He’s an alpha now, and he doesn’t really care if they’re the best. He'll take safety and stability over power any day.

“Stiles will ward your new place. He has some charms, too. To keep you safe, until this blows over.” His emissary might be ridiculous, and insist on shaping protection charms from pony beads, but Stiles is one of the best at what he does.

Peter looks somewhat dubiously down at Derek’s own charm, a bracelet of hot pink and blue plastic beads, with an extremely tacky pewter wolf head.

“Trust us, uncle, they work. Can’t wait to see what he comes up with for you.” Cora dangles her own bracelet at Peter, wooden beads with a crescent moon. Apparently Stiles likes her better.

After another week of dodging Talia’s calls, Peter is settled into his new home. His Lichota triptych showcased along the entry hallway to the condo, everything well-appointed to his specific taste. He admires his newest art acquisition, hanging proudly above a rich leather sofa, while sipping at some of the Mortlach 20 he liberated from Derek. The pack is due soon for his housewarming, there are hors d’oeuvres on the kitchen island, cehryl playing on the sound system. He’s wearing the Dolce & Gabbana black v-neck sweater that had Stiles spluttering during one of Peter’s shifts behind the bar.

Isaac and Stiles are the first to arrive, Isaac’s been practically vibrating, waiting to see Peter’s art collection. Stiles has just been vibrating. He gives them a short tour, giving the two a moment to gape over the views. He’s proud of his things, and his space, and Peter does love to be admired.

Stiles sees the new piece and howls out a laugh. “What is THIS? I love it so much. So, so much.” He’s pointing at it and shaking with laughter when Isaac comes up behind him and pales, “Holy shit. Is this an original Basquiat?” His voice goes squeaky at the end.

With an amused look at them both, Peter nods. “It is.”

Stiles is actually crying now, he’s laughing so hard. “Best… this is the best. Please tell me Derek is coming over soon.”

Derek does come over soon. And gets the tour and a drink. And makes an extremely satisfying sour lemon face when Stiles excitedly drags him over to admire the Basquiat piece, _Wolf Sausage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You lost me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Og4wNtCTMao).
> 
> If you have $25k, American, kicking around, you could have your own 1 of 50 screenprint of _Wolf Sausage_. It's one of my favourites of Basquiat's, and I think Peter would pull more toward pieces with hints of colour like this, rather than something super bold like _Cabeza_. (Says the girl who learned everything she knows about the character from two youtube clip videos and a lot of porn).


	4. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles sighs dramatically and longingly after Peter leaves. “I’m going to woo him so hard.”
> 
> “Stiles. He’s only been in town for a month. Settle down.” Derek continues sorting through the new shipment of books, only half-paying attention.

Derek met Stiles and Scott shortly after moving to Portland. He’d been idly wandering the neighbourhood around the bar, and walked into a shop with no name. When he mentioned the lack of signage, Stiles shrugged and said that he could never settle on one name and all Scott’s ideas were terrible. Scott just smiled and shrugged alongside him, as if his ideas being awful were just foregone conclusions. Derek’s not sure they mutually became friends, so much as Stiles and Scott dragged him along for food and drinks and aggressively got his contact information and then never left. With Stiles came Erica, and Scott brought along Boyd and Isaac. Then Erica and Boyd became EricaandBoyd, Isaac and Cora started collecting tattoos like it was a competition, and Derek was suddenly in possession of a pack and running seriously low on alone time and nachos grandes.

Derek knows it’s probably a mistake to take Peter to the nameless shop, but it’s the second Tuesday of the month, which means it’s book shipment day. Stiles’ orders are always completely eclectic: classics, trashy ‘80s romance, true crime, all kinds of history and mythology. Derek shows up for every shipment day, ready to play the lottery that is Stiles’ taste in literature.

Stiles straightens immediately behind the counter, where he’d been leisurely chatting with a piece of striped fluorite, as soon as he sees Derek has brought his uncle with him. He can feel the back of his neck start sweating, because Peter is hot like the sun. He gives himself a pep talk, he hopes not out loud. He can do this. He can charm! He’s charming! He makes charms!

It’s not a total disaster.

Peter is definitely impressed with the shop’s selection and the quality of work in the pendants and runes Stiles has on display. He smirks when Stiles tells him why the shop has no name and buys a copy of the _Fieldbook of American Wildflowers_ before he has to head out for a lunch meeting with a potential new client.

Stiles sighs dramatically and longingly after Peter leaves. “I’m going to woo him so hard.”

“Stiles. He’s only been in town for a month. Settle down.” Derek continues sorting through the new shipment of books, only half-paying attention.

“Sure, but look at this, he’ll like this, right?” Stiles produces a beautifully crafted bracelet, dark leather twined with burnished gold. Tiny, delicate symbols have been painstakingly carved into the gold plate centred on the bracelet, it’s stunning.

“What the hell, Stiles.” Derek shakes his own flashy pony bead bracelet, with the cartoon wolf pendant, looking both irritated and incredulous. “Why does Peter’s look like that, and mine looks like _this_?”

Stiles raises his index finger. “Okay, 1. Peter got me a first collected edition of _De occulta philosophia libri tres_ , which not gonna lie, totally got me hard.” Derek grimaces, instantly regretting taking any part in this conversation, while Stiles raises another finger and continues. “2. I want to bone him more than I want to bone you. Like, not that you aren’t pretty, alpha, but I kinda want to bite his thighs and rub my face all over his chest. Anyway! So, he’ll like the bracelet, right?”

Stiles has a manic, desperate-for-approval look on his face, so Derek just agrees that yes, Peter will like the bracelet that is not made from hot pink and blue plastic pony beads. While Stiles is smiling to himself, satisfied with the answer, Derek takes the opportunity to escape. He throws a twenty on the counter and absconds with two books.

“Hey!! Those are twenty bucks _each_.” Stiles would do more than grumble after his retreating alpha if he didn’t spend so many shifts at _Moon Howler_ eating free nachos grandes.

The rest of the week passes by more or less quietly, as Stiles works himself up to presenting Peter with the bracelet he’s crafted. Considering how his focus tends to flit from subject to subject, he’s drawn to Peter. He matches Stiles barb for barb, wears stupidly distracting v-necks, is an art snob, and has opinions about everything, from the glassware at the _Howler_ to the early northern European selkie-kelpie treaties. Stiles has never met anyone like him, and hasn’t had palms this consistently sweaty since he was 15 with a crush on Danny Mahealani. Which reminds him, he needs to follow-up with Danny about the trapezius tattoo he wanted. Danny has ended up being a good bro. Maybe if Peter doesn’t like the bracelet or Stiles, they can still be bros and Stiles can just pine until he dies alone in his shop’s store room.

Stiles is locking up the shop when he gets an email from one A Deaton. Once he gets through the vague, formal introduction and skims down the message, he barks out a laugh. Peter, Cora, and Derek are gonna _love_ this. He steps into the bar with a wide grin.

“Stiles stop making that face.” Cora barely looks up from where she’s filling a pitcher at the bar.

“No, no. This is worth the face.” Derek raises his eyebrows and nods for him to continue, while Peter watches appraisingly. “You don’t want to wait for the rest of the pack?”

“We’ll fill them in later, what’s going on?” Derek will never admit it, but Stiles knows he loves the tea. Not long after he and Scott joined the pack, he mentioned the telenovela his dad got sucked into after retiring, and later he caught Derek and his dad discussing Esperanza’s latest bout of plot-driving amnesia.

“I got an email from Emissary Deaton.” Now he definitely has the Hales’ attention. “He’s been tasked to negotiate appropriate compensation for the return of their wayward beta, who they’re just now figuring out is kind of awesome —” Oh, look, the eye rolls are apparently a family trait. “— and he’s attached their opening offer.”

Peter looks at Derek, “I’m not going back. I’ll leave if you don’t want to engage with her, but I’m not going back.”

Stiles and Cora look horrified, but Derek just scoffs and says of course he’s not going back and tells Stiles to print the offer so they can make an ironclad refusal. Peter swallows the lump in his throat and doesn’t think about the second of panic he felt before Derek’s easy acceptance.

While he and Stiles are in the back office printing off copies of the document, Stiles keeps drumming his fingers on the desk, then his pocket, then the desk again. Stiles looks at him with eyes wide and suddenly drops something into Peter's open palm, “Thisisforyou.”

Peter blinks and looks at the little velvet bag in his hand. It’s a soft blue, embroidered with small silver runes and he belatedly realizes it matches his eyes. Inside is a gorgeous strip of leather and gold, perfectly suited to him. He looks up to see Stiles averting his gaze, pale skin flushing a deep red. He puts on the bracelet and steps forward, placing one hand along Stiles’ neck, and the other on his hip. Stiles looks up quickly, licking his lips and searching Peter’s face, before reaching forward to pull him close into a perfectly messy kiss.

“Whoo, get it, Stiles!” Erica crows from the bar, and Stiles is torn between throwing a hex her way and being thankful, because the interruption is all that narrowly prevents his having to walk back into the pack meeting in zero-privacy skinny jeans.

“We’ll discuss this later, after the meeting. And thank you, Stiles. This is very much to my taste.” Peter lifts his wrist with the charm, but never takes his eyes off Stiles’ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Crush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WGXkeNFVZg).


	5. True Shred Guitar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter watches intently as Stiles slices the brioche and prepares the eggs and cream with vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Stiles glances up with a smirk, “You’re kind of a creeper, you know?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, though, I like it.”

Stiles wakes up pleasantly sore and very, very happy. Biting Peter’s thighs and rubbing his face all over Peter’s chest was everything he dreamed it would be. After Peter took his time fucking Stiles’ brains out, Stiles returned the favour until Peter’s eyes were flickering a luminous blue. All of the right parts hurt, and he never wants to leave Peter’s very comfortable and expensive bed. The sheets feel like they're probably unicorn hair, or at least Italian.

He finally stumbles out into the kitchen when the smell of coffee becomes too much to resist. It’s time to continue his woo with some brioche French toast. He doesn’t bother pulling on a shirt, recalling how Peter’s gaze kept sweeping over the ink on his chest. A wolf overlaid on the constellation Lupus covers his sternum, flanked by Norma and Centaurus wrapping around his ribcage. The wolf has its paws raised, jaws open, and Peter traced the path of every star with his fingers and tongue.

Peter watches intently as Stiles slices the brioche and prepares the eggs and cream with vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Stiles glances up with a smirk, “You’re kind of a creeper, you know?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, though, I like it.” Peter laughs and leans forward on the kitchen island, all fucked out from the night before and happier than he’s been since… ever. A few months ago he hadn’t dared dream he could have any of this. Not just Stiles, though he muses on how very pleased he is about their rapidly developing relationship, while Stiles continues to make breakfast with star and moon tattooed hands. But everything, his home, his thriving work, his new pack.

The pack meeting held more surprises than Stiles’ craftwork and frantic kiss. The other betas had been varying levels of disgusted at the offer from Deaton. Boyd and Isaac in particular were repelled by the idea of bartering betas between packs. Peter likes to think it was because of some genuine affection and not because Boyd is happy with the increase in profits on nights he, Erica, and Peter share shifts, or Isaac’s enthusiasm for Peter’s art collection. He _fits_ with this sundry group in a way he never did with his family, and he doesn’t know what that says about him, but he finds he doesn’t want to lose them.

Stiles and the born wolves did their best to explain how these negotiations typically go, but Erica, Scott, and Isaac’s suggestions for potential responses still involved a lot more profane language and bodily fluids than are generally considered acceptable. They ended up deciding that Derek and Boyd, alpha and second, would come over to Peter’s condo the following day, so they could hash out an actual reply with Stiles.

Stiles is plating up a mountain of beautifully prepared brioche when they’re interrupted by a knock at the door. “Huh, they’re early.”

Peter looks over Stiles, dressed in a pair of Peter’s lounge pants and nothing else, hair askew, covered in hickies, licking powdered sugar off his fingers. Then down at himself, honestly not faring much better. He barely fights a smirk opening the door for Derek and Boyd, knowing that the condo must reek of sex. Derek freezes and recoils a bit, staring at his uncle with angry eyebrows, looking utterly betrayed. Boyd just hustles past him, beelining to the pile of French toast. Derek eventually follows, just barely consoled by breakfast.

In between bites, Derek grumbles. “We could just let the Orions _smell you_. That should put them off.”

Boyd just shrugs at them and keeps eating. He was roommates with Scott Never-Met-Leftover-Takeout-I-Wouldn’t-Leave-In-The-Fridge-For-A-Month McCall for two years before meeting Erica. He’s smelled much, much worse.

Stiles rolls his eyes and launches into what he’s put together. “From everything I’ve read about refusals, it’s like, rude to send a flat no. Then again, packs don’t typically send permission to come home to the fam-fam for Christmas as part of an offer. I say we push the boundaries of etiquette and send an absolute refusal, make it clear we’re not interested, no matter what the terms are.”

It was obvious when they’d first reviewed the offer that Talia wasn’t taking Derek seriously as an alpha. The standard financial terms were peppered with considerations to lift his pack’s ban from Beacon Hills for a week around Christmas, and allow (temporary) access to the Hale grimoires. Both Stiles and Peter had bristled at that, as though Peter had not already brought the best of the tomes he acquired in the first place with him, as though Stiles had not been building a formidable set of grimoires for Derek’s pack already.

Boyd nods and adds more French toast to his plate. “I agree. She’s treating this like we’re supposed to do her a favour, when it’s a transaction.” His distaste is clear. He wouldn’t trade away any members of their pack. He also doesn’t want to think about what a pain Stilinski would be during their shared shifts if Peter were to leave now. And Erica is weirdly invested in how Stiles’ sad lack of game is going to play out. What was Isaac thinking, betting against her when it came to Stiles and Peter hooking up?

“You already know where I stand.” Peter made his feelings known during the pack meeting, his ideal response falling closer to the betas' profanity-and-fluid-filled rejection rather than the standards of propriety.

“Okay. Stiles, draft it up. Flat refusal. We have no interest engaging them as a pack, I have no interest engaging her as an alpha. They’ve ignored us for the past three years, it’s not like we’ll notice a change.” Any bitterness Derek felt at being essentially forced from Beacon Hills has long faded into a mix of exasperation, pity, and relief. He doesn’t want to be like his mother or Laura. Doesn’t want what they have. He knows they look at his pack and don’t understand how an alpha can be happy with something so _small_ , but he really doesn’t care.

Stiles immediately starts typing a reply while Peter clears the dishes. Stiles shouts from the bedroom, asking if he can borrow a shirt and underwear, and Peter smugly replies in the affirmative, reveling in Derek’s sour, sour face.

Stiles returns, dressed, gets everyone’s approval, and sends the email to Emissary Deaton. He pauses for a minute after it’s sent, gears turning. “How tech savvy is Talia’s pack?”

Peter and Derek look at him in question, while Boyd grins. “Danny owes you, right?”

Stiles’ answering expression is a little evil. “Owes me and wants another tattoo, big piece, that would typically be pretty expensive.”

Derek laughs, one of his actual, real laughs and tells Stiles to go nuts, as long as nothing gets traced back to them.

Then he frowns over at the alcohol cabinet.

“Is that my bottle of Mortlach 20?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [True Shred Guitar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NC3S6NU7afg).
> 
> Stiles is in full woo mode, but also seems like the kind of dude who in a few weeks will put [Praise You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruAi4VBoBSM) on his Totally Unironic Sex Playlist. On a semi-related note, a coworker at my #startup day job called music from the 90s "oldies" and now I'm just going to take my withered husk and float away on a nice ice floe.


	6. Road to hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek’s eyes widen as he looks over the (large) pile of evidence of Deaton’s fairly shameless embezzling. “Oh, it gets better, alpha. Gotta take it in slowly, though. It’s like eating too much cotton candy all at once.”

Danny drives a hard bargain and ends up getting the trapezius tattoo, an axis deer surrounded by blue ginger and plumeria, and another on the inside of his right wrist, an aid in avoiding detection. As well as Stiles’ solemn promise to hook him up with the next stupid hot werewolf relative/acquaintance that comes to Portland. It’s all worth it when Danny delivers the requested dirt a week later on the Beacon Hills Hale pack, the Orions, and one Emissary Alan Deaton. He throws in a couple burner phones, because Stiles is a good bro, too. As he starts to wade through the mountain of data, Stiles is stunned at all the scandalous shit therein. He immediately shoots off a text to Peter and Derek to come over to the shop. Derek may hide his love of the tea, but Peter is shameless about it.

Peter comes in with a smile a mile wide, and Derek will absolutely deny it, but he’s a little breathless with anticipation. Stiles flips the “Open” sign over to “Closed,” and leads them up to the apartment above the shop. He takes them to the melamine dining table, where the files and two laptops are laid out, several other pieces having already made their way onto the whiteboard mounted on the wall. Peter spends a moment taking it all in, then kisses Stiles fast and hard. “You do give me the nicest things, sweetheart.”

While Stiles is blushing and sputtering, Derek’s eyes widen as he looks over the (large) pile of evidence of Deaton’s fairly shameless embezzling. “Oh, it gets better, alpha. Gotta take it in slowly, though. It’s like eating too much cotton candy all at once.”

Stiles isn’t wrong.

On such short notice, Danny wasn’t really able to cull things down, so he just gave them _everything_.

Hours later they're still sorting, they order pizza, eat pizza, keep sorting. Stiles pops the last garlic knot into his mouth, and runs a hand over his face.

“Okay, I was expecting a few skeletons in the closet, but this is a whole graveyard. One of the big, pretentious ones with marble statues of little baby angels all over the place. We have, so far: Deaton’s shameless embezzling, Talia buying Laura’s way into college, Laura failing classes at said college in a hushed up plagiarism scandal, the Orion’s deep, deep financial woes, the Orion Emissary’s _super creepy obsession with Peter what the hell_ , and Talia’s incredibly petty feud over territory boundary lines with the Ito pack. Really? She’s fighting them over a splash pad park? Ugh, nevermind. And we’re not even a quarter of the way through all of this.” He puts another post-it up on the board, with “follow up on T’s connection to parks dept” written on it.

Peter feels like someone gave him a beautifully wrapped box of schadenfreude for Christmas. He’s not sure what’s more attractive, Stiles’ thorough vindictiveness, or his ability to follow through on it.

Derek typically considers himself above petty drama. He’s not interested in that sort of thing, really. This does not stop him from loudly crowing that he **knew** Laura hadn’t earned valedictorian of their graduating class, as he reads over an email chain between Talia and the then-principal of their high school. Stiles squints at his alpha, “Oookay. I was originally thinking we’d get some leverage on the Beacon Hills and Orion packs, and maybe ruin Deaton’s credit rating with a bunch of weird porn purchases, but there’s clearly a lot more going here. I’m really glad you’re getting closure on high school trauma, big guy, but I need to know how far you want to go. We could wipe both packs out, scatter them to the wind, grind Deaton into the ground,” Peter shifts a little closer to Stiles, eyes blazing. “or we could just hold onto whatever we need to make sure they never bother Peter, or any of us, ever again. Come on, be my moral compass.”

Derek looks thoughtful and turns to his uncle, “Peter?”

Who blinks and stares back at his nephew, “I… also need a moral compass.”

Derek drums his fingers on the open file in front of him. “Hold onto what we need to make sure they don’t bother us, for now. It’s getting late, so we can take a break on this, but we’ll continue to sort through everything.”

“Gotcha. Can do. I’ll ask dad if he wants to help, he needs a retirement project and looking into the whole police corruption thing is right up his alley. Plus, you know, bonding time.”

Derek tucks a couple of the high school files under his arm and says a terse goodnight, leaving his uncle behind and hurrying back to the loft.

Peter is all predator as he approaches Stiles, prepared to show him how very appreciative he is of this gift. Stiles figures it's time he gives Peter the full tour, starting and ending with the bedroom.

Stiles mulls while munching on breakfast pastries that he had been a little worried about introducing Peter to his dad. Usually the introductions turn into an embarrassing interrogation, and it’s even worse now that the ex-sheriff is both retired and bored. It turns out all he needed the whole time was a solid case of police corruption to grease the wheels. It's a full house with Cora, Erica, and Boyd tagging along with Derek to help go over more of Danny’s haul. Despite Erica’s DILF comment about his own dad and Cora's considering nod—oh my _god_ —things are actually going pretty smoothly.

His phone pings. “Huh.”

He had been half-expecting an official response from Deaton despite their complete refusal. Cora did get a call from lil’ alpha junior, which she put on speaker for the humans in the room. Stiles thought Laura could’ve gotten a lot more creative with the attempt at sisterhood, then bargaining, then angry cursing. But his dad seemed entertained, and the old man needs to get his kicks where he can. Peter and Derek looked bored the whole time, so Stiles figures this is old hat for Laura. From what he could glean, Talia is apoplectic. She’s on the hook now for a contract she can’t fulfill. And because she didn’t heed any of Peter’s warnings during the lead up, drafting, or signing of it, the penalties are severe.

So he’s surprised to see the message is from the Orion’s emissary instead. It’s… creepy. The language is technically proper, but completely sleazy. An offer for Peter, praise at length for Peter’s pretty pretty eyes and pretty pretty collection of valuable antiquities, and a threat to seek recompense for the breaking of the contract with the Beacon Hills pack. Stiles isn’t sure if this dude wants to bone Peter or make a hearty stew out of him. He would admire the chutzpah, but this slimeball is not only creepy, he’s really bad at threats. If you’re going to threaten someone, threaten someone with something you can actually pull off. Better yet, make an example out of them. Burn their metaphorical crops. Salt the earth around them.

A good emissary thrives not only through their magic, but through their connections. Forging relationships with other packs, with different groups of people. Stiles didn’t just make sure they’re on good terms with surrounding packs, he’s also done favours for the local covens, left offerings for the cockatrice and penghou in Forest Park. Questionable social skills aside, Derek’s pack has done a good job of making nice with their neighbours. The Orion’s emissary, on the other hand, has been double dealing and cheating their supposed allies for years. Worse, he’s been sloppy about it. Left a paper trail. A long paper trail that’s now being shared via burner phone and email.

Stiles narrates each step he’s taking to the Hales plus Erica and Boyd. His dad left to (gleefully) “chase down some leads” and Stiles will give him a sanitized version later.

“BCC’ing you guys on my reply. Obviously a no and hard no to recompense and any offers on my boo. Also BCC’ing you on my email to the Druid’s Council. And the three packs surrounding Orion territory, sharing the email chain with his crappy plotting with-slash-against each of them. Also this email to the clutch he sold shitty sun talismans. This guy is a total moron, who messes with the vrykolakas? Oh! Did you know he trained with a Baba Yaga and stole from her library and took one of her horns? Because now Baba Yaga knows.”

Boyd wonders if unsettling smiles are a Hale thing, if so, Stiles is going to fit right in. Erica pokes him in the side, “Look babe, uncle Hale has heart eyes.”

She’s not wrong, Peter is looking at Stiles like he made the moon and stars and hung them in the sky, or pulled them down to ink them onto his skin.

Derek isn’t even trying to fight the widening grin on his face as he reads the reply Stiles has already forwarded from a very angry Baba Yaga. Maybe he does enjoy a little petty drama every now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Road to hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCNbvHmWTjE).


	7. Never say die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anyway, what do you think about this? For my left calf.” Scott digs out a crumpled print-out from his pocket and hands it to Stiles, who smooths it out and frowns. It’s a detailed illustration of a koala. Sitting in a tea cup.
> 
> “Man, we talked about this. No pun tattoos. Puns don’t get _more_ funny over time.”

Peter’s client base is an equal split of supernatural and mundane. He doesn’t ever want all his eggs in one basket, so he’s diversified as much as possible, the only thing they all have in common is the ability to pay his very healthy fees.

He’s due to meet with a rådande interested in purchasing a set of three cabochon garnet beetle brooches, she’s one of his favourite clients. He managed to secure a reservation at Nodoguro and immediately sent an invite. Linnea has married, and buried, five husbands, and now spends her days lavishing in her exorbitant wealth, collecting eclectic antique jewelry, and striking terror into the hearts of the west coast supernatural elite. She has no children and one of the first pieces Peter secured for her was a Connor Brothers original, _First thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue_ , for her ensuite dressing room.

She swans into the restaurant in all black, hair swept back with a simple gold pin, accessorized with a gold bone cuff. “Darling, it’s been too long.” She leans in for a kiss on the cheek, as Peter pulls out her chair.

“I'm very glad that horrendous engagement business was cleared up. That woman they wanted to pair you off with, simply awful. And Weston Orion is a ghastly man, terrible emissary. Always smells faintly of burnt matchsticks. I’m glad you’re rid of them. And now with _everything_ coming out about his dealings with the vrykolakas, I’m sure you’re relieved at having exited the whole affair when you did. What a _lucky_ happenstance that was.”

Her eyes twinkle with delight. Nothing can be traced back to Peter or his new pack, of course, but the grapevine is positively on fire with Peter Hale leaving Beacon Hills, the crumbling of the Hale-Orion negotiations, and the deluge of the Orion emissary’s bad actions coming to light. Linnea hasn’t been this consistently amused in some time, and if she didn’t like Peter so very much, she might have considered taking him as a sixth husband.

“Mm, yes. Dreadful everything coming out all at once like that. I’ve heard that the Baba Yaga’s horsemen are quite displeased.”

Peter doesn’t need to say anything more, Linnea can read everything she needs to in his toothy smile.

“I can imagine, dear. Now, let’s enjoy the chef’s selection with the omakase menu and I’ll fill you in on your dear sister’s recent spate of mysterious bad luck.”

The thing about Noah Stilinski is that while his son came by his drive to solve mysteries and shit disturb honestly, Stiles did not inherit Noah’s innate need to do the right thing. So when he ends up uncovering solid evidence, spanning over the past decade, of corruption in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, he has to do something about it. He let’s Derek know, first, that even though the alpha had asked them to hold on exposing Talia’s transgressions, Noah is compelled to bring this to light. The kid takes it pretty well, sliding him a tall glass of capella porter, and even offering the back office for Noah to make the call.

Stiles laughs out loud when he reads the text from his dad, letting him know Derek’s okay with everything, and even kindly offered his space. He doesn’t bother letting him know that Derek will be able to hear everything from front of house.

“Dude, I’m happy you’re happy, but you’re doing the villain laugh again.” Scott is ~~90%~~ 80% sure Stiles would never do anything really evil, but usually the villain laugh only comes out during _Moon Howler_ ’s trivia night and the odd negotiation with their patchouli supplier. Scott can’t really judge him on the patchouli guy, Finstock is really weird, although probably harmless.

“Anyway, what do you think about this? For my left calf.” Scott digs out a crumpled print-out from his pocket and hands it to Stiles, who smooths it out and frowns. It’s a detailed illustration of a koala. Sitting in a tea cup.

“Man, we talked about this. No pun tattoos. Puns don’t get _more_ funny over time.”

The shop door chimes and Scott tucks the paper back in his pocket, smiling out a greeting. His smile falters when he sees the stormy faces of the maybe-customers. The woman looks pinched, like she thinks the shop is beneath her, while the man stepping in behind her is giving Scott serious serial killer vibes. He angles himself in front of Stiles, just in case. Stiles can guess at their visitors' identities. They’d received a heads up from the gremlins Stiles and Scott helped settle into PDX a year or so back. Peter and Derek asked him to keep them in the loop, so he sends them each a quick message and slips his phone back into his pocket.

“Now, now, no need for the that.” The man smiles what Stiles assumes is supposed to be disarming. He looks like the kind of guy who practices it in the mirror before he goes to bed.

“We’re looking for Emissary Stilinski.” The woman interrupts him tersely, arms folded, eyebrow raised.

“Uh huh. Well he’s super busy and good-looking, so why don’t you leave your names and like, a business card, or whatever, and he’ll get back to you.” Stiles taps his fingers on the counter, wearing a shit-eating grin, while Scott smirks and lets his claws out.

“I’m sorry, you don’t seem to realize who I am. I’m Laura Hale. This is Emissary Weston Orion. We are looking for Emissary Stilinski, we have business with him, not the peanut gallery.” Laura Hale is clearly used to getting her own way. Maybe she’s a big fish in the little pond that is Beacon Hills. But she’s not in Beacon Hills right now. She’s in Stiles’ shop with no name, smack in the middle of Derek’s territory. Uninvited.

The shit-eating grin turns shark-like as Stiles plucks his phone from his pocket. “Well then, we’ll get right to it. Oh, hey alpha, looks like your sister and the Orion’s most unsettling pack member are here to visit. Unannounced, too! They’re demanding to see your ridiculously talented and photogenic emissary. ... Yeah, no problem, we’ll see you in a few.”

Laura and Weston pale, suddenly looking unsure. This is a big breach of protocol, and Stiles wonders if mommy and alpha Orion know what they’re up to.

“Great news! You seemed to have skipped checking in with the local alpha, so he’s coming to you.”

Weston attempts to pour on the charm again, “We’ve clearly gotten off on the wrong foot here. I sent Emissary Stilinski an important communication in regard to an agreement with our pack recently and we’re merely following up.”

Scott squints at him, “Wait, important communication. Do you mean the gross email about Peter’s ‘delicious cerulean orbs’? Because that wasn’t cool, man. Also Peter is totally boning Stiles, now. And vice versa.” Scott points a thumb back at Stiles.

Stiles loves Scott so much.

“Lousy dog, I could tear you apart and I’d _enjoy_ it.” Weston is turning an unattractive shade of red, even though Stiles feels like he should probably be used to getting called out like this, if that’s the kind of thing he says to people he just met.

“Ugh, dude. So gross.” Scott might not be crazy about Peter on a personal level, he’s so smug all the time, and Scott is convinced he cheats at trivia night. But he’s pack and he makes Stiles happy and no one deserves to be stuck anywhere near this guy who is maybe an actual cannibal.

Derek arrives with Boyd and Isaac while Weston is still frothing, and Laura slips a confident face back on. “Little brother, so nice to see you again! It’s been a while.”

“You’re in my territory uninvited, unannounced, and in breach of protocol. What are you doing here.” Derek’s voice is low and steady, but his eyes flare red.

Laura’s smile is brittle. “We’re family Derek, it’s not like we need every article of protocol—”

“We do.”

“Look, I get that you’re still a little bitter about how everything played out three years ago, and you’ve always been a little jealous of—”

“I’m really not.”

Laura grits her teeth. “We need to make reparations to the Orions since Peter broke our contract. You stole our pack member, and refuse to engage in any offer negotiations, I think the very least you can do is get your emissary to assist Weston with some… issues the Orion pack has been having with their neighbours.”

Derek blinks and his mouth twitches up at the corners. “Well, Emissary Stilinski, are you interested in helping out the Orion pack?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Laura and Weston turn to look at Stiles in horror. He looks back at them, fingers still tapping on the countertop, every star tattoo lit up, pulsing sparks of energy across the surface of his skin.

Derek shifts minutely out of the way of the exit. “Get out of my territory, now. Don’t come back.”

Laura and Weston scramble to leave with as much dignity as they can scrape up off the floor, and Stiles sends an update to Peter. He chews on his lip a little and uses one of the burners to send an email to Danny asking him to get Laura and Weston’s seat assignments. Maybe he also shares that information with the gremlins at PDX, but there’s no evidence he did, so who knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Never say die](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFsbk5gCXeI).
> 
> Koala-tea.


	8. End of the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah can’t help a laugh from escaping. He wonders if they’re smart enough to let him go, before they get in too deep, or if they’re more likely to panic and risk having to hide a body. At this rate, they’re a hair’s breadth away from causing an all out war. He sighs, maybe they have a lick of sense between them.

Stiles is reading on Peter’s sofa, with his toes tucked under the man’s legs, when he feels a shard of ice pierce the Ursa Major tattoo marking his right shoulder blade.

“Dad!”

Peter looks at him in alarm and question.

“My dad’s protection charm, something’s happening. Each of them is tied to a tattoo, and his is freezing on my skin.”

He’s got his phone out, already dialing Noah while he gives Peter the quick explanation. “Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up…” The call goes to voicemail. So does the next. And the next.

His phone sounds for a text, instead of a callback. Stiles is relieved for a moment, until he sees it’s from the gremlin hoard, letting him know Laura and Weston never boarded their flight. Stiles closes his eyes tight, and when he opens them, his pupils are bright starbursts, the sclera pitch black. “We need to go. Now.”

Noah awakens with a gasp of pain. If his wrist isn’t broken, it’s definitely severely bruised and strained. He can feel a pulse of energy in the engraved signet ring Stiles insists he always wear, which should mean the cavalry is on its way. The last thing he can remember is an iron hold on his arm, while he was walking back to the bar answering a follow up call on his cell from the Portland field office. A voice interrupts him as he scans the room he’s in, what looks like a small warehouse or storage facility.

“Who are you? Why were you talking to the FBI about the Hales and Orions?”

Noah can’t help a laugh from escaping. He wonders if they’re smart enough to let him go, before they get in too deep, or if they’re more likely to panic and risk having to hide a body. At this rate, they’re a hair’s breadth away from causing an all out war. He sighs, maybe they have a lick of sense between them.

“I’m retired, former sheriff of Multnomah County. I came across evidence of police corruption in Beacon Hills and the Orions’ involvement in money laundering. I may not be sheriff anymore, but I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and do nothing.”

Laura and Weston share a look of confusion, who is this guy?

The man before them smirks a little, and Laura’s stomach drops, because she recognizes it.

“My name is Noah Stilinski.”

Peter drives, following Stiles’ muttered directions as he focuses on the connection to his dad. The initial shards of ice sensation has turned into a dull ache in his right wrist, so he knows his dad is alive, but in some pain. They eventually arrive at a small, empty plaza on the river waterfront. Stiles looks over at Peter, who takes a deep breath in, then murmurs back, “If it’s Laura and Weston, he’s masking their scents.”

Stiles nods and touches his hand to Peter’s bracelet. The new marking along the back of his neck heats up for a moment, and they make their way into the storage facility anchoring the end of the plaza.

As soon as they step through the door, Peter slinks back to the side while Stiles strides forward. He sees his dad, sitting on the ground and leaning against a row of filing cabinets, cradling his wrist. Laura is standing away from them both, hands raised to placate.

“We didn’t know he was your father, Emissary Stilinski.” Noah and Stiles both snort incredulously.

“Is your defense here that you thought you were just kidnapping a random person off the street?” Noah leans against the cabinet to heft himself up off the ground. He’s had just about enough of these idiots, but he’s going to have to help deescalate the situation soon, if the sparks trawling across Stiles’ skin are any indication.

“Look, the both of you are going to have to go with Stiles and Peter at this point, we can’t just let you go, and I’m sure you don’t want non-supernatural authorities involved.”

Weston chooses this moment to make his move, slipping out of the shadows to smash a vial onto Peter’s skin. “Amber promised to share you with me, you know that? If you think I’m leaving without even a taste—” Peter smashes his elbow back, hard, into Weston’s diaphragm. Weston sinks like a rock to the ground, coughing and clutching his chest, eyes wide.

“…How? That's impossible, you...”

Peter gives him a swift kick in the ribs, savouring the satisfying crack of at least two of them breaking.

It turns out kanima venom is a poor choice against someone whose protection is tied to the Serpens constellation. “I am not some _toy_ to be shared among spoiled, simpering children.”

The snake on Stiles neck writhes and coils, pulsing with the same energy as the sparks dancing between his fingertips. He rings Laura with mountain ash, while Peter knocks out Weston.

Peter frowns and looks over his sweater, “This is cashmere, and he’s ruined it with venom.”

Noah huffs out a laugh at Peter’s priorities. Stiles certainly can pick them. He uses his good hand to grab his phone from the table Laura has left it on, and calls Derek to let him know what happened. In between growls, Derek says he’ll be there with Cora and Boyd shortly to take Noah to the hospital, and secure Laura and Weston.

Derek calls the staff that was supposed to be in at _Moon Howler_ , letting them know an issue has come up with the plumbing, and they’ll be shut down for a few days, but everyone will still get paid. Derek may penny pinch the napkin orders, but he’s still a good boss. Cora and Boyd dump an unconscious Weston into the back seat of Boyd’s Chevy truck, while a very uncomfortable Laura sits between them in the front. Noah sighs and settles into the Camaro with Derek to head to the hospital, while Peter follows with an antsy Stiles.

“Your father will be alright, Stiles. At the very worst, he’ll need a cast, but he’ll be alright. Your protections worked.” Peter lays a hand on Stiles’ and lightly squeezes.

“I can’t lose him. I won’t lose any of you.” His eyes are still flickering between black and starbursts and honey brown.

“I know, sweetheart. But you need to relax at least a little before we get to the hospital, they may be alarmed by your light show.”

Stiles gives him a weak smile and closes his eyes, Peter is right. They end up at a medical centre twenty minutes from the plaza, where Noah is quickly taken for x-rays after they fill out the medical background and insurance information. Derek, Peter, and Stiles stay in the waiting area, silent for the moment aside from Stiles typing out additional thanks and an update to the hoard at the airport.

They probably would have been able to forgive the breach of protocol entering the territory and approaching their emissary unannounced. But hurting Noah? Trying to drug Peter? Stiles is going to be out for blood now, Derek’s struggling to contain his own rage.

“Stiles. Contact Deaton. The Orions and Beacon Hills pack can come here to arrange for their pack members’ return.”

Stiles slowly nods. “Yeah, yeah I can do that. Do you think they knew what Laura and Weston were planning?”

Derek bares his teeth, “Honestly? I don’t care. They let it happen. Alphas are responsible for their packs.”

Stiles twists his lips in a feral grin back at his alpha. Time to salt the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [End of the line](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OBOaOLOzEw).


	9. Comeback kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Derek and Cora arrive at Peter’s, they see Stiles and a handsome, but unfamiliar, man at the kitchen island, two laptops, several burner phones, and stacks of paper in front of them. They’re both clearly hard at work, and Stiles is making the face.
> 
> “Nephew, niece, this is the illustrious Danny.” Peter doesn’t look up from the burner phone he’s tapping away on. “Danny, meet our alpha Derek and his sister Cora.”

The other packs are due the following evening around six, which leaves Stiles with twenty seven hours to rain hell on them before they arrive. That will hardly be the end of it, but he wants them as vulnerable as possible when they show up. Even if he was the type to let things go (he’s not), they hurt his dad, and they’ve hurt his pack, and fuck them.

Noah agrees to come with them to Peter’s condo and sleep off the pain medication in the well-appointed guestroom. Peter starts to grow on him when the man skillfully redirects Stiles’ slightly overbearing attention elsewhere. Stiles is finally satisfied once Noah is settled into bed with soup in a mug, and old _Unsolved Mysteries_ playing on the thin flatscreen mounted on the wall.

Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica are all at the bar, keeping an eye on Laura and Weston, who have been secured in a small backroom with a tiny washroom attached. They didn’t really _have_ to be in the same room, but Derek and Cora know Laura. They especially know Laura when she’s done something wrong, and is frantically passing the blame. The siblings smirk while Laura and Weston throw accusations at each other with increasing vitriol as the night wears on.

Eventually Scott and Isaac come to relieve Derek and Cora, so that they can head over to Peter’s place. Isaac has his sketchbook and settles into a plush booth, while Scott delivers food to their still fighting guests.

“You! You have to let us out of here.” Laura makes a beseeching face at Scott, while Weston slumps in the corner, arm around his tightly-wrapped ribcage.

Scott has no idea why everyone always tries this with him? Stiles says it’s because his face is open and honest like a true bro. Erica told him it was his cute puppy dog eyes. Cora laughed at him and said it might be the manbun. Whatever it is, it doesn’t work and he rolls his eyes, drops the food in, and locks the door behind him.

When Derek and Cora arrive at Peter’s, they see Stiles and a handsome, but unfamiliar, man at the kitchen island, two laptops, several burner phones, and stacks of paper in front of them. They’re both clearly hard at work, and Stiles is making the face.

“Nephew, niece, this is the illustrious Danny.” Peter doesn’t look up from the burner phone he’s tapping away on. “Danny, meet our alpha Derek and his sister Cora.”

Danny raises a hand in hello, and flashes them both a quick, bright smile. Cora asks Stiles to fill them in, and he hands her a phone and Derek a file full of financial statements and a highlighter.

“Okay. We’re maximizing damage in the day we have until they get here. Danny is systematically reporting every Hale and Orion guilty of tax fraud to the IRS. Spoiler, there are a lot. I’m sharing a pared down version of the police corruption/bribery evidence with the _Beacon Hills Herald_ and papers in the surrounding county. Peter is letting all of Deaton’s bookies know he’s about to be busted for embezzling, so now’s the time to call in their debts.

I know, we’ve still got a lot to go, but it’s only been a few hours.

Oh, and there’s soup and pizza on the counter. Don’t tell dad about the pizza.”

They sleep in shifts, methodically bringing Hale and Orion skeletons out of the closet. Noah had been skeptical when he woke and joined them, but it turns out the respective packs had been doing _so many_ flagrantly illegal and dishonest things for _so long_ , Danny and Stiles didn’t even have to do anything (else) illegal themselves. Literally it was just twelve hours of sharing Hale and Orion misdeeds.

Peter has dragged Stiles to his bedroom for some rest, and once they finally get under the covers, he sees Stiles curl into himself.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Stiles swallows hard and searches Peter’s face, “Weston… he could have really hurt you. If anything had’ve gone differently, I could’ve lost you both.” He grips Peter’s hand tight.

“I know we’ve been dating for like five minutes, but I really care about you, Peter.”

Peter knows Stiles is right, he could have been hurt, and this is moving fast. But Peter trusts his instincts, and they’re screaming at him to hold onto this beautiful man and never let him go.

“I care for you, too, Stiles. And you didn’t lose anyone today, like I told you earlier, your protections worked. Now roll over and let me big spoon you and get some rest. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

When they arrive at _Moon Howler_ , the Beacon Hills and Orion entourages are dressed to the nines, like they’re walking into a boardroom. Talia eyes Stiles up and down, lingering on his “FERAL!!” t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans, with clear disapproval. Stiles smirks and leads them to the long table toward the back of the bar where the meeting will take place.

Derek’s pack did not dress to impress, because they don’t care if their visitors are impressed. Derek, Boyd, and Cora are wearing their standard bar uniform of black henleys and dark jeans, and Peter seems to have confused a deep v-neck cardigan with an actual shirt. Whatever, Stiles isn’t complaining, even if Talia does look like she’s ready to clutch her necklace. Noah’s right wrist is in a cast, with two fingers immobilized in a splint. He levels a dark glare at the new arrivals.

“I really don’t have time for this Derek, or your hurt feelings, Peter, I’m sure whatever has happened with Laura and Weston is simply a misunderstanding. So if you could return them now, we’ll leave and put all of this behind us.” Talia’s tone may be dismissive, but Peter and Derek know her well enough to see the minute flinch as her gaze passes over Noah. “We’ve had some issues come up at home recently, the Sheriff’s Office, even the _Parks Department_ —”

“And your emissary’s embezzling. That’s rough.” Stiles interjects with faux sympathy, chewing on his straw in between loud slurps.

“What.” Talia clenches her jaw so firmly it’s a wonder her teeth don’t shatter. From Deaton’s stricken look, it’s clear Derek’s emissary is telling the truth. And if he’s uncovered this about Deaton, then everything else… The police, the press, the sudden pressure from surrounding packs, the attention of the Druid’s Council. Is it all because of this impudent pup of an emissary?

“The _stealing_. I mean, I know you’re busy, trading your pack members away into soulless unions like human Pokémon. But maybe you should look at the books every now and then. I guess it’s going to be even harder now, with the government after you.”

Peter smirks and tilts his head to the side, watching Talia’s reaction. The Orions seem to have marginally more sense, slowly easing away from the Hale pack’s half of the table.

“Derek, are you going to let your emissary speak to me this way?” Peter’s eyebrows raise, that’s a bold move on Talia’s part, all things considered.

Derek looks at his mother, smirk falling off his face. “Yes, Alpha Hale. I am. Your alpha successor, with the Orion pack emissary, trespassed in my territory. Approached my emissary in breach of protocol. Then proceeded to _kidnap and injure one of my pack_ , while also attempting to poison another. You used to love to tell me what an alpha does. Tell me, what would you do if you were in my position?” His eyes are glowing embers, palms flat on the table, as he waits for Talia’s answer.

Everyone is watching Talia now, waiting for her to speak. She opens her mouth and closes it again. Alpha Orion and his second realize they’ve come into this blind. Everyone knew Weston had an interest in Peter Hale. But they’d assumed it was with the man’s connections and wealth. They’ve thrown in with Talia this far, but she’s a sinking ship. After too many beats of silence, and a silent conversation with his second, Alpha Orion speaks up.

“While Talia is considering her answer, we’d like to know the terms for getting Weston back. We’ve been clearly misinformed about the situation here, and you can rest assured he’ll be dealt with.”

Peter would be more convinced had they not been bartering for him like a particularly tender piece of steak for the past six months.

Derek nods, “You can have him now. The Orion pack is banned from my territory, as well as the surrounding territories of our allies in Forest Park, Gresham, Beaverton, and PDX. The hoard at PDX will let you leave, but they’re not very patient. You should go. Now.”

Boyd and Erica bring Weston out to the Orions, followed by a bitter stream of invective from a still-waiting Laura. The Orion second looks like she’s ready to murder him on the spot. They offer a tight, formal thank you to Derek and leave. Stiles smiles to himself, they probably think they’re getting off easy, which makes the perfect storm of pissed off former allies, Baba Yaga’s horsemen, and FBI waiting for them when they get home that much sweeter.

“We’re still your family, Derek—”

“Laura tried that, too, Alpha Hale. And that’s not exactly what you said when Cora and I left Beacon Hills. You can take Laura, with the same ban as the Orions.”

Talia starts to argue, when her second places a hand on her arm and tightly shakes his head. There will be hell to pay later, but his alpha is on the verge of taking them to war over her brat of a daughter. He’s seriously considering packing up his family and leaving after this. His sister-in-law’s pack offered them a nice spot after Talia’s last disastrous alliance with the covens.

Boyd and Cora bring a cursing Laura out as well, she looks triumphant until she sees the looks on her mother and Deaton’s faces.

Derek stands and folds his arms across his chest. “For the last time: get out of my territory and don’t come back.”

Things quiet down after that, for Derek’s pack, anyway. Things are definitely not quiet for the rapidly crumbling Beacon Hills pack, and word is the Orion’s territory has been divided up by their neighbours, and their emissary taken by Red Sun and Black Night. Before all of this, Derek didn’t really care about Beacon Hills. He and Cora have a good life in Portland. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t take a cold satisfaction from the regular updates they get from Stiles’ and Peter’s contacts. Deaton disappeared in the dead of night, and rumours range from him escaping to Iceland to being, well, dead. Talia and Laura have lost absolutely everything. The Portland Hales and Stiles did manage to scrounge up some heart between them, largely motivated by Noah’s judging gaze, to offer assistance to relocate some of the Beacon Hills betas to other packs.

The Portland pack ends up with a reputation for kind benevolence, given that no one died at their hand during the whole sordid affair. Boyd dryly comments that people only _wish_ they were dead after Stiles is finished with them.

Later in the year, approaching autumn, Derek hears from one of the breweries that supplies the bar. It’s run by an ex-hunter and his daughter, they’re considering moving to the Portland area, but wanted to check in with the local alpha. Derek invites them to meet the pack, let everyone get to know each other to make sure it’s a good fit.

They come by the pack meeting the following Sunday. Scott’s eyes fill with hearts as soon as he sees the pretty, brunette woman who comes in first, bearing a gift of their newest brew. They immediately start dimpling shy smiles at each other, as Scott stumbles through an introduction.

She’s followed by her father, a bearded man with tousled hair in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up. He’s carrying a larger case of beer, and greets Derek with a nod. Stiles tries not to squirm as the ex-hunter scans the room, icy blue eyes roving over the pack, lingering on Stiles and Peter.

Peter leans in close, hand sliding up Stiles’ thigh, lips almost touching Stiles’ ear, and he whispers: “Hello, _Daddy_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Comeback kid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiwcUdX7XMw).
> 
> I've got a few more scenes in mind that will probably follow as oneshots (lunching with Linnea, Isaac delivering his finished piece to Peter, the Ito pack and Beacon Hills gossip, maybe something with Peter, Stiles, and Chris). Hope you guys enjoyed this one, I'm really glad these first few stories have been well-received because I'm having a good time writing them.
> 
> Bonus song reco for little shits like the Portland Hale Pack: [Tempt my trouble](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ju61fo3UO5Q).
> 
> Also hey, I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sarahfairwrites) and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sarahfairwrites/) now for art/writing, if you want to chat/follow.


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